Dominion
by BreatheQuietly
Summary: A ring with dubious intentions rids Bonnie of her allegiance to Silas, but not without a dire price. Set during/post 4x19, prom. AU.


**Dominion**

* * *

"Are you okay?" repeated a weary washroom attendant, tapping heavily against the occupied cubicle door.

Bonnie unhurriedly peered above the toilet bowl that she had previously cradled for the past half hour and mumbled a non-committal, "yes," before flushing away the bizarre contents of her stomach, nauseated at the sight of the black substance that on inspection smelt worse than it's abhorrent looks, it's wretched smell perforating and tarnishing the air around her, making her shrink away against the door. This was what was _inside_ of her. Without a moment to spare, she carefully gathered the navy skirts of her prom dress off of the floor and brought herself to standing, swaying slightly at the sudden vertigo that washed over her. She looked back briefly, checking that the cubicle was left in an acceptable state and nodded, somewhat content.

Bonnie muttered an apologetic "excuse me" as she brushed past the attendant upon exiting the stall, shuffling towards the wash basin to turn on the faucet. The sound of running water strangely settled her stomach to a degree as she took a quick pump of the purplish soap, enjoying the cool sensation that caressed the smooth palms of her hands. Before she could run her hands under the stream of water, a royal blue clutch was placed thoughtfully behind the tap, briefly stopping her movements, the clutch was perched against the damp, lacklustre tiled walls, a clutch that Bonnie now recognised as her own.

She glanced to her left and regarded the woman. On first inspection Bonnie deduced that if this woman wasn't a washroom attendant she could have easily passed for an impressive bouncer, her stature was formidable: tall, wide and possessed calves that Hercules himself would be jealous of. And though her body demonstrated more manly qualities, her face was anything but. It was round and all womanly and lovely, a tanned complexion, plump lips that were pursed, a straight nose that slightly hooked at the tip and a pair of dark eyes that had a slight dust of a shimmery eye shadow to decorate her lids. Frown lines and crows feet accompanied her image, suggesting that the worker was of the older variety; her mixtures of grey and black hair were tied neatly in a ponytail with a dull grey band that matched the almost clinical state of the attendants' neutral uniform.

Bonnie's stare, first laced with suspicion, became quizzical.

"You dropped it when you first rushed into the washroom." The attendant cut in simply, not waiting to get bombarded with questions and stalked hastily back to her station, carefully arranging confectionary, mints, and colourful contraceptives in a prettily fashion . Bonnie shook her head ashamedly and went back to the task at hand and ran her palms under the water. She rubbed the soap meticulously, watching the suds foam up and sink into her smooth brown skin, she enjoyed the way the water swept up the bubbles with carefree ease to only gush down the basin. Bonnie, thinking she was done began to gather her things, fixing her makeup and adjusting her dress, she nearly made it out the door before she noticed the sticky soap still lingering on the surface of her skin. With a small huff, she went back to the basin and turned the faucet on once more, hands going under once again; lathering the annoying detergent and watching it swim away to the bottom of the sink. She grabbed her clutch to leave.

It happened again.

With a growl, Bonnie dropped the bag on the floor and went at her skin repeatedly, scrubbing and scratching barbarically at the soap that refused to leave her, running it under the steel tap, rinsing and repeating, not caring that there were welts beginning to form on her beautiful brown hands. She carried on, ignoring the ruin that she was making of her nails, oblivious to the wrinkles that emerged on her slim fingers due to the relentless onslaught of water. She didn't know how long she was there for. Eyes transfixed, focused on cleaning her hands, she simply wanted to be clean. The more she scrubbed the more suds that made themselves apparent.

Before she had at it again a voice broke into her revere.

"That water is boiling!" someone berated in distress, their open palms carefully wrapping round her wrists, bringing her hands up to her dazed face.

But what Bonnie saw was not droplets of water running down her irritated limbs, nor was it the troublesome suds of soap that refused to wash away. It was a harsh crimson that drenched her small hands, a gruesome red that coated and festered over and under her freshly manicured nails; the liquid flowed thoroughly down her arms and seeped into her lavish dress, gathering at her bosom. It's red poison not leaving her. And the person that had grasped her hand so urgently was not the helpless washroom attendant, but the tarnished corpse of Jeremy Gilbert, his face so brutally burnt that his appearance was barely recognisable, his jaw so jarred and decayed that it was close to crumbling away.

A horrid guttural noise came from the back of his charred throat.

She screamed.

"Girl! Girl! Wake up!" Wet hands slapped her tear streaked cheeks many times before Bonnie came to. Green orbs opened tentatively, a hard struggle to return to focus, she blinked once, and then twice at the woman that loomed over her. Through her blurred vision she could only make out small, beady dark eyes gaze wearily back at her.

"You passed out as soon as you left the cubicle, I'm going to call an ambulance, stay there girl." The attendant said in a gruff voice, reaching for the phone that occupied her pockets.

Bonnie stopped her.

"Please don't," she began pleadingly, grabbing the hand that rested on the pocket, "This is my prom, please; I'll be okay, I just need to sit down somewhere."

The attendant grunted and removed the hand that lay on her pocket, taking in and evaluating the situation. Dark eyes flickered with something Bonnie couldn't begin to comprehend, making her unconsciously bite her lip. Bonnie was preparing herself for the worst. It was only a little while longer until the attendant made her decision; with a roll of her wide shoulders she opened her mouth.

"Every girl needs their prom" she said decisively, as if it were more to herself. She looked towards the exit cautiously, checking if someone were about to enter, no one came through the heavy blue door so she quickly went to her pocket again, this time not for a phone. Instead she brought out a small plastic container and popped the lid; she took a small white capsule and shoved it carelessly into Bonnie's quivering hands.

"If I got caught giving you this, I'd be out of a job. It's pain relief, take it." She gave another look to the door and then back to Bonnie who carefully brought herself to standing, bringing her clutch up with her. "It looks like you need it, girl."

She stared, eyes wide at the white capsule that rolled to the centre of her outstretched palm.

"Thank you so much." She said eventually, popping the pill in her mouth and taking a swig of water from the bottle that miraculously appeared in the attendant's hand.

Bonnie, however, missed the malevolent grin that etched itself on the large woman's lips as soon as the capsule passed her pursed lips.

It wasn't long till Bonnie gathered her bearings and made herself presentable, make up was successfully reapplied and the creases embedded into her gown smoothed out nicely, the clutch bag now in hand signalled that she was ready to go. She made her way out, fingers brushing against the door in an effort to push, it became ajar when the attendant called out to her, and she turned just in time to catch a familiar packet of mint mentos, a knowing look passed between them.

Bonnie laughed as she exited the room.

* * *

The instant Bonnie took her own advice to root herself in a small secluded booth, Caroline Forbes entered the facility. Making her hurriedly shove a couple of mentos in her mouth, if Bonnie wasn't so hyper aware of not wanting her best friend to find her just yet she would have delighted at the cool sensation of the mints, but the anxiety of having to greet the blonde with Satan's vomit breath made her rub the chewy interior between her tongue and the roof of her mouth with unbridled conviction.

A moment passed before a smile crept its way to Bonnie's face, admiring the way Caroline channelled the Disney princess into every fibre of her being. She literally sparkled in the dress when she first entered, distracting the attention from multiple males and females in appreciation and envy throughout the room. Bonnie thought she could have easily waved her over by now, noting the subtle panic that Caroline exhibited, but another painful lurch from Bonnie's stomach signalled that the pain relief hadn't quite kicked in yet, making her rethink the notion of calling her over, having no immediate plans on ruining her best friends vintage dress by projectile vomiting on it. She cringed at the mere thought of it. Instead she watched on as her best friend tried her best not to rub her perfectly made lips together, a habit that her friend had acquired ever since they were little –whenever she was nervous. The blonde haired beauty continued to scan the crowd, searching undoubtedly for recognisable faces amongst the large crowd of ball gowns and tuxes. Thankfully, a light flicker settled across Caroline's features as she recognised members of her cheer squad beckoning over towards the photo booth that had accumulated a large queue for. As Caroline stalked away, Bonnie nearly jumped out of her seat when she suddenly remembered something; her hands flew to her bag.

With haste she brought out her phone from the clutch and dialled a number before bringing it to her ear, after two rings the tentative voice of Tyler Lockwood answered.

He got to the point. "Is she there?"

"Yeah, she just arrived," she paused, twisting a finger round her hair before carefully adding, "and alone."

She could have sworn that he stopped breathing for a moment before a shaky breath of relief echoed in her ear. "Okay, I'll be there soon, thanks Bon."

The call ended and Bonnie felt her stomach twist, but not the kind that made her want to run to the bathroom to empty her guts, it was quite the opposite. It was the familiar tug of hunger that grasped at her stomach; the witch rubbed her belly meekly, mourning the fact that mints cannot substitute real food.

She took in the Chinese buffet that was prettily laid across the room in all its delicious glory. Her mouth watered at the sight.

Her gaze was torn when a dark clad figure briefly blocked her view of the appetising cuisine, making her curse rudely under her breath. The man strode with practiced poise towards an area which Bonnie now recognised as the 'all you can drink' bar. It didn't take a rocket science to deduce who it was, not that she knew for definite it was him, she still couldn't catch his face, but to her, Damon had a particular shaped head that on occasion ballooned to Bruce Banner levels when his ego was being stroked. With him doing the stroking, of course. In all honesty Damon looked like he was all but running to the bar, his strides becoming quicker and quicker as if he were making a great escape from something that produced a metaphorical tail to grow between his legs. With a deliberate shrug, her green eyes drew towards the centre of the room, scanning the crowd before she came across Elena Gilbert, who was looking in the direction that the older vampire drifted to, a perfect smile adorning her lips that Bonnie could only describe as triumphant. The doppelganger turned away coolly, undoubtedly happy with what she said to Damon before looking for some other form of entertainment.

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, popping another mentos in her mouth and sucking carefully. When had the infamous trio arrived? She knew that Elena was to be escorted by both Salvatore's on each arm, but normally upon their arrival there would be some sort of big deal to be made amongst party goers. Their entrance always used to create a hub of hushed whispers, waves of tension filled silence, the quiet before a storm of noise so to speak. But tonight there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It occurred to Bonnie that no one gave a shit.

On that note Bonnie lifted the skirts of her ball gown and stood up from the booth, her eyes trained on the vampire that sat on a bar stool alone, his dejectedness hidden well by the audacious smirk that was plastered on his features as he flirted unashamedly at the bartender. It was strange for her to be the one looking to converse with the sarcastic blood sucker, but there were things that needed to be said.

Bonnie decided to let Damon finish his second drink before she made her move.

* * *

"Elena's gone." A voice said plainly.

Damon shifted slightly, his brilliant blue eyes moving from the glass of bourbon he had been lost in to look at the girl that casually settled herself on the stool next to him. His stare was blank when he briefly looked her up and down, starting from the bottom of her deep blue garment and travelling upwards, careful not to wander too long at the strapless material that hugged a pair of tantalizing female anatomy. His eyes travelled higher, noticing the soft brown curls that swept sophisticatedly to one side and stopped at a set of mossy green eyes that were shrouded by long dark lashes that fluttered nonchalantly at him.

Even with the slightest residue of fatigue, Bonnie still looked undeniably delectable.

"I see your memory loss hasn't dampened that impeccable insight of yours."

She felt a bit woozy, yet smiled that lopsided smile of hers and ordered a drink before speaking. "It always results in snark with you doesn't it?"

"And that's a problem?" he said, feigning surprise. "Snark has done me good so far, it treats me like a princess. It tucks me in at night, showers me with sloppy kisses and fights off wicked witches that want to tell me how mean I am."

Bonnie casually ignored him with a wave of a hand and looked over his own choice of apparel, he didn't miss the pleasantly surprised glint in her eyes as she roamed over his expertly fitted tux, her stare made him teeter on the edge of calling her out, not because he was uncomfortable, not at all, he was infact amused. "I see you've ditched the leather pants this time," she quipped cheekily, allowing the memory to float between them as they recollected his outrageous skin tight attire that he shamelessly wore to the 60's decade dance.

Damon purposely drew his gaze towards his groin and wagged his finger. "You haven't seen what I'm wearing underneath, honey."

Bonnie's lips curled slightly in an attempt to conceal a laugh, she shook her head and thanked the bartender for the arrival of her drink. "That's not why I'm here, Damon."

"Oh?"

She decided not to beat around the bush. "I wanted to say," she paused for a moment, needing to clear her throat in an attempt to force the foreign words to roll off her tongue. Damon took this opportunity to take a swig of his drink and made a small humming noise of encouragement, signalling for her to continue. "I just wanted to say thanks." She blurted quickly, downing her drink in order to avoid his gaze, returning only to stare and direct her words to his unmoving shoulder, "For bringing me back home, Stefan filled me in about what happened on the island, how you stayed behind to look for me and, uh, I don't take what you did lightly, so thanks."

Damon felt an odd sense of déjà vu.

"That killed you to say that didn't it?"

"Not gonna lie."

"Well I don't know 'bout you, but my _shoulder_ sure felt the love and gratitude, shall we try this again where you actually look me in my face?"

Her eyes flew to his. "Are you serious?"

Damon hummed, encouraging her to try again. "How does that sound?"

"How does throwing myself in front of a bus sound?"

He was about to retort when something caught his attention, his brows drawing together, forming a frown. Bonnie tried to follow his line of sight but found that her vertically challenged self couldn't compete with Damon's taller frame. Her nose wrinkled, disgruntled at the thought that Damon had a one up on her. Quickly losing interest in what piqued Damon's interest, Bonnie occupied herself by swivelling playfully on the stool, noticing an abandoned tequila that someone must have bailed out on and mentally cheered that no one claimed it thus far. With a lick of her lips she took the shot.

By the time she swerved back to Damon she immediately stopped in her tracks, mouth hanging slightly ajar at the body part that was thrust in her general direction.

Bonnie looked at his out-stretched hand curiously, eyeing it as if it was something not attached to the limbs of Damon Salvatore. She looked at the offending hand, then back to his face, then back. His voice was unwavering.

"Wanna dance?"

"Uh…" She replied dumbly.

If Bonnie was flushed before, she couldn't comprehend what state she was in now and blaming it on the alcohol could only stretch so far.

Deciding not to dwell too much on his proposal, her tentative hand reached out and grasped his hand with a shocking gentleness that surprised both of them, his own cool hand gave a gentle squeeze as he tugged her out of her seat. His palm now laid to rest on the curve of her back, fitting perfectly. Before she was swept away, Bonnie made a grab to pinch the rest of Damon's bourbon that he had left on the counter, its potency doing more funny things to her head.

All he could do was smirk when Bonnie murmured something about liquid courage and blood suckers as he led her to the dance floor.

* * *

"Not that I don't have enough problems of my own, to even begin to care about yours, but I heard through the grapevine that you haven't been in tip top condition as of late." It was moderately easy for Damon to feel Bonnie stiffen in his arms as they were dancing, her tendency to straighten her back like an offending pole under the tiniest scrutiny was oddly comical to him, if not, a tad sad. It appeared that even being slightly inebriated, Bonnie still loathed people knowing about her business, nearly as much as being forced to talk about herself and her problems.

He's dealt with enough self-centred people for him to realise that this was a trait that he quite liked about Bonnie Bennett. Still, it didn't stop him from prying though.

"Does this grapevine happen to be blonde and called Caroline?"

He spun her now, not bothering to answer the obvious, something that Bonnie didn't seem to mind as she followed his movements with cool ease, her dress sailing beautifully off the ground. They swayed to the music, in time and in rhythm to the smooth sounds of jazz that began filtering through the speakers, it wasn't a song that Bonnie recognised but she could tell that Damon was digging it.

She noticed that Damon was still silently waiting for an answer, so on this occasion she decided to indulge him. "All the expression stuff kinda did a number on me, it's just taking me awhile for my body to feel normal again, you know, adjust. It's nothing, really."

Damon hummed, twirling her once more before letting her back rest on his solid chest, they swayed for a while, enjoying the atmosphere that the song had created and against their better judgment—their company. From an onlookers perspective, it would've looked like Damon was whispering sweet nothings to her, but that was quite the contrary, his nose was indeed buried in her hair but she could've sworn that he was singing into it. She liked it though. The combination of having his chest rumble deliciously against her back and his cool breath fanning over her head of hair, made her sigh in pleasure. They both stilled, he must of heard that. Her mouth opened on its own accord.

"How drunk are you?"

"Very."

"Great. Carry on."

He laughed at the same time she asked. "You know this song?"

"Of course, it was the song to dance to back in the 30's. Body and Soul."

Bonnie sometimes forgot that Damon was _old_as hell. That he's lived lifetimes, making abundant amounts of impressive back catalogues of history and knowledge, things he mostly kept under his belt, where no one would dare venture to, ever. Her grams always told her that with age comes wisdom and it felt downright blasphemous to associate it with Damon Salvatore. He was reckless and immature, but she could admit that on the rarest of occasions she could see sense through his skewed logic, she strangely understood him.

He looked pointedly at Stefan and Elena who were moving fluidly across the floor. "While my brother wasted his time with something as mundane as the waltz, my forte laid with something more risqué."

Her interest was caught and decided to face him fully. "What was that?" She breathed, leaning in, her curiosity insatiable. Damon raised an eyebrow at their proximity, but went with it anyway, leaning in just as close, as if he were about to divulge his dirtiest secret.

"The _foxtrot_."

The laugh that erupted from Bonnie's mouth was borderline inhuman, she shook violently, a hand clutched to her side while the other gripped at his shoulder, as if she were to let go she would crumple into a heap of tears. "Isn't that the same thing?" she wheezed.

Damon rolled his eyes.

"Let me show you." Her smiled dropped.

He lifted her easily onto his feet.

"I'm okay, thanks."

He sneered. "Come on, Bonnie. You're ruining my prom."

"You don't even go here." She sneered back.

It wasn't long till Bonnie was literally swept off her feet.

As they danced a nameless man lightly tapped Damon on the shoulder, a fancy camera in his hand. He looked to Bonnie and then to Damon, a cheeky grin lighting his face. "Picture?" he asked.

The two shared a look before Damon broke out into his trademark smirk and Bonnie couldn't conceal the crooked smile any longer. She nodded in fake annoyance and the vampire took the chance to throw his arm around her bare shoulders.

The moment the trigger was sprung, something triggered within her.

Light bulbs flashed and the rest became a blur.

* * *

They were having fun, her, the blonde one and the brunette one. She missed this, she missed them. They twirled prettily, their dresses producing waves of spinning colour, of blue, reds and ivory that caressed the polished floorboards. The champagne was so expensive here that it could've came from anywhere. Glasses were chugged and fortune cookies were torn apart and thrown into the air, their fortunes dancing across their faces.

Green eyes clashed with brown and then with blue, all sharing the same gleam of mischief as they plucked the strips of paper from thin air.

* * *

She was at the buffet table holding up a skewer to her childhood friend, his boyish looks could make a girl weak at the knees. He didn't seem to mind when she fixed his rustled hair, even opening his mouth to gingerly accept the food that she had offered him.

They pigged out on the special fried rice and egg rolls for what seemed like forever.

She was so hungry, yet it strangely wasn't enough.

* * *

The brunette one had to ruin it, her dark brown eyes pierced un-remorsefully into a pair of disbelieving ones.

Green eyes blazed with disbelieving anger as she eyed the puncture wounds that decorated the neck of a familiar large woman, the clinical greys of her uniform spoiled by her own red liquid.

She couldn't believe she was naïve enough to believe that Elena had changed.

The brunette shrugged, licking the blood off her rosy lips, "She's one of the few, if not the only person in this god awful place that hasn't been spiked with vervain and _I'm hungry._"

"Let her go."

"No."

"I'm not asking. I'm telling you,_let her go_."

The moment the bathroom attendant connected to the tiled floors of the lavatory, the brunette attacked, fangs bared.

* * *

A fragmented shard of mirror slid from her hand when she first saw her eyes, her wide white eyes that reflected blankly at her. The surroundings were unrecognisable to her, broken wood everywhere, shattered glass and busted water pipes littering the floor, making it cold, wet and razor sharp.

Someone touched her arm.

She was frightened, unmoving. Her eyes searched for familiarity, anything to bring her to back to her own reality, only to find the desiccated body that was strewn unflatteringly across her path, the body who glared heatedly at her, the body who seemed livid that she was reduced to nothing more than dead weight. She couldn't look for long.

She addressed the person that took ownership of her limb.

"What did you give me?" she whispered through clenched teeth, the self made stake still clutched unwaveringly in her hand. The man cupped her still face, cooing at her as if she were child, his true face hiding behind the façade of the familiar wash-room worker whose neck was unnaturally bare, muscle and tendons displayed as if it were just a shallow flesh wound.

He wasn't answering her. "Silas?"

"It was just a little something to bend you more to—_your_ way of thinking. Your mind needed to be open, you needed to be in _control_."

He said nothing more.

Her arm lifted, stake in hand as she moved towards the wide-eyed vampire that lay helplessly on the floor. Fear, a glimmer of genuine humanity surged straight to the surface and in that brief moment, Elena Gilbert looked so much like her cursed predecessors that it nearly stopped her dead in her tracks. The stake didn't falter.

She didn't feel in control.

_Spirits help me, _she pleaded in one last attempt.

It went oddly dark.

* * *

A prayer was answered.

Bare feet padded silently through the Salvatore mansion, the feel of old wood felt nostalgic by the way it dipped slightly under the person's weight. No one was home. The emptiness gave out a cold chill, making goose bumps rise from her smooth mocha skin. The material of the ivory slip that she donned shifted as she made her way up the stairs, exposing the tops of her delicate thighs when she climbed higher.

Her legs had a mind of their own, wandering down the hallway with chilling purpose, eyes set straight ahead of her, unblinking. A beat passed before she made it to a door, it was already wide open. She entered calmly, stepping over discarded bottles of bourbon that lay undisturbed, her feet gliding against the wood.

A tiny creak resonated from beneath her toes.

She stopped, a knowing smile creeping onto her cracked lips. Her right foot came up before coming back down with such a force that made the floor thump. The floorboard popped up as if it was a trunk of a car, its contents coming into half hidden view by the mass of vervain that shrouded its treasure. She knelt this time, brushing the plants away without a flicker of emotion.

Her hand emerged from the hole in the floorboard, a deep burgundy box gripped in her palm. She opened it.

It was a ring.

A brilliant white gold ring that had a dainty blue sapphire gem rested proudly in its centre, the shimmering rock was trapped between two pieces of black onyx that was warm to the touch. She shifted to look at the writing on inner circle of the band, _'di avere e tenere' _was engraved into the cold metal.

Eyes still glazed over, the young woman removed the gleaming object from its smooth case, discarding it without a care onto the bed and stared unemotionally at the hollow centre before slipping the ring easily onto her slim finger. The air sizzled and the vacant body couldn't feel the burning metal engrave the letters on to her ring finger, nor smell the burning flesh that drifted around her. She smiled.

It wasn't darkness that seduced her to unconsciousness; it was a thick white light that encompassed her, filling the room and beaming through the open windows.

It was this peculiar light that Damon Salvatore saw as he pulled into his driveway.

* * *

A/N: I have no idea where this is going. I don't have a beta so feel free to burn me at the stake if you see errors. *whimpers*

If you're confused about the second half that was my intent, Bonnie aint stable right now y'all :D

Oh and I don't own these characters nor the vampire diaries. Boo.

_Ciao!_


End file.
